In Search of Salvation
by Brandysaur
Summary: Cas promised himself long ago that he would care for Dean in any way he needed. He has been Dean's watchful protector for so long, he's forgotten how to be anything else. Cas learns Dean needs him in a different way, and his vessel, Jimmy, gives him a push in the right direction. POV of Cas. Destiel. Angst and sensual fluff. (For now.) Work in progress.
1. Token Shower Scene

Chapter One.

It saddens me to know that he is so deeply broken. He's never told me as such, but it takes an angel hardly a second to see the innermost thoughts of the tortured and damaged. He is strangely and beautifully human. But Still. I spend each day watching. I count the stubble around his mouth when he speaks, just to make sure each hair on him remains. His heart is broken. His soul is bare, but his outside remains the same.

"Don't you ever eat, Cas?"

I look at him. He should remember that I tried that once. It did not end well. "My hunger was satiated when Famine left. It was Jimmy's hunger. You remember that I sustain him?"

"Yeah, Cas, it was kind of a rhetorical…I know already, I was just…" His voice drops. He becomes silent. I realize I have gone on too long with evidence he did not need. This vessel's voice fails me. Dean sighs and leans against the poorly papered wall and lifts the top from the long necked beverage. The bubbling release of tension from the bottle is sickening to me, but to Dean, it is a comforting sound.

That night I brought him a bacon double cheeseburger from a burger 'joint' down the road. The woman would not let me order from the drive through without a car, so I had to go inside. I misjudged the time it would take to get into the building and she shrieked in terror. The burger was free.

When I returned I learned that Sam was hunting alone, a lesser poltergeist in a local home, and Dean, in his loneliness did not leave the motel bed. I did not want to disturb him, but I watched from outside the motel until I saw him stir. I called before I came in, but as I thought about standing next to him, it came to pass.

Sometimes I feel my control over this vessel wavering. Or, perhaps it is just in Dean's presence.

"I don't feel like myself," he whispers when he notices me.

I cannot tear my eyes from him. The sunlight pours from the lines in his face, but he feels the intense darkness bubbling to his surface. I feel a strange sensation in my vessel's chest. Jimmy starts to stir.

Again. I've let my guard down.

"I can see that, Dean."

He closes his eyes. I imagine being next to him and without my prompting it has come to pass. I am next to him on the bed and his body jumps with fear.

"God dammit, Cas, you can't do that. It freaks me out. You gotta give me some damn warning." His voice cracks at the end of his sentence.

"I apologize."

I want to wrap these arms around him. I can feel his need to cry.

Sam finds it hard to sleep with me in the room, so I leave and take up the post outside once again. He arrived slightly bruised, but he banished the poltergeist on his own.

"I am sorry Dean and I were not present for that hunt, Sam."

"It's fine, Cas. He needs to recuperate. It's been… hard for him."

The hatred I feel for Zachariah is uncanny, for hurting them the way he did. Sam has handled it much better than Dean. Then again, Sam never really knew his mother, and Dean still has nightmares about the night she burned.

Like tonight.

I enter the room again. Sam is dead asleep, but Dean's face is twisted in horror. The sweat on his brow trickles down and I hear him whisper "Please, no." I feel Jimmy's heart skip as I go to him. I watch him for further signs of distress. His pulse is elevated and his blood pressure is bizarrely high. I wonder if I should wake him.

Instead, I lay my hand across his brow and whisper an Enochian incantation, one I know should calm him and allow him peace in slumber. This is not the first time I have used this on Dean. I used to watch over him when he was a child, and for years, night after night, he knew nothing but fear in his sleep. With this, he should not remember much in terms of disturbance and pain.

First, the small muscles of his face relax under the tips of my fingers, and he sinks into a more pleasant sleep. He sighs deeply, and a soothing calm washes over me.

I sit with my hand on him for what feels like eons. When I see the corners of his mouth curl into a smile, I lift my hand and touch my forehead to his. I close my eyes and breathe. Things will get better with time.

The hunters cannot see me the next morning when they rise, but I am present more often than not. Especially with Dean in his intensely distressed state, I worry about the darkness within him.

Sam stands and stretches while Dean opens his heavy eyes.

"Hey, man. You sleep okay?" Sam says. He pulls a grey shirt from the cargo bag next to his bed, and slips it over his shoulders. He half-jumps back onto the bed and looks in Dean's direction.

"Yeah. I just… Weird dreams, Sammy." He almost smiles. "I dreamt that Cas was… Well, I don't know. I was dreaming about mom, and then-"

"You're still having nightmares?" Sam interrupts, his voice alight with genuine concern. He pushes his fingers through his hair in an effort to comb it out of his face. He stands and pulls a belt from a torn pair of pants and slips it through the loops on his jeans.

Dean sits up in his bed and brings his hand to his face. He digs into his eyes with his knuckles and sighs. "They won't just stop, Sam."

"I know. I just thought that after the thing with Michael-"

"You thought what? That after seeing mom tell me she never loved me, that she was happy she died, to get away from me that I would be fine? That I could somehow just accept that?"

"Dean, you know it wasn't true. He was _trying_ to get to you."

"I know."

Sam slipped his shoes on and grabbed the keys to the Impala from the motel desk. "Look, man. I'm sorry. I know you're having a rough time. I'm going to go get us some breakfast."

"It's noon."

"Okay, so… lunch. I'll be back in a while. Take a shower or something, it'll make you feel better."

The door latched behind Sam as he left the motel. Dean sits in bed and cracks his neck, moving his head in small circles. He exhales deeply with each crack of his vertebrae. When he stands, he lets the covers drop around his feet and he walks in short boxers to the bathroom.

Dean has never told me, but one of the simple pleasures he enjoys most are the fluffy towels motels provide for bathing. He picks one up and lifts it to his face and whispers into it. I try to make out the words, when he hands the towel on the rack next to the shower and reaches inside to start the water. He twists the faucet and it squeaks as he finds the correct setting.

It takes a few minutes, but the bathroom becomes a heaven of steam and cologne. Dean drops his boxers and tentatively steps inside, the dimples in his flesh stretching in relaxation as the near-scalding water rains down about his body.

He leaves the shower curtain slightly askew and does not shut the door. I stand outside the room and avert my gaze to his mussed bed.

When Dean is happy, he sometimes sings while he washes himself. His voice is rough, but strong and on key, and I lament that I have not heard his voice in this way in weeks. I am quiet as I listen to his sighs. He is fond of cracking his bones for pleasure, as he sighs with relief at the onset of every pop.

"Ah, dammit," I hear. I know he has found another bruise or cut from a previous hunting trip. If I were standing next to him I would place my hand over his wound and whisper while new skin grew and his pain disappeared beneath my hands, but currently I am unable to perform this service.

There is silence from him for a while, but the water continues to fall and the steam begins to plume from the bathroom and enter the bedroom of the motel. Dean shortly after finds his voice. I hear him whisper.

"What am I doing dreaming about Cas…?"

Before I knew I had gone, I find myself soaked with the hot water of the shower, standing directly behind dean.

"HOLY SHIT CAS. WHAT are you DOING in here?!" He quickly tries to cover himself with his hands.

"You called. And there is no need for you to cover yourself. I am around you more often than I am not. What do you need?"

"What?! I'm taking a shower, I don't need-"

I see the cut along his hip, digging into his thigh. It is deep and jagged, but has not bled for days. The gash was stubborn and was taking too long to heal, and I knew the prolonged risk of infection grew by the day. For his benefit, I pushed him backward into the spray of the hot water and lay my hand over it, whispering. I felt the would close and Dean closed his eyes and mumble something I could not understand.

When the wound had calmed from the incantation, I release him. "Dean. Are you alright?" I ask. He stares at me, starting to shudder despite the high temperature of the water.

He casts a glance at me that expected some sort of understanding but I am unsure as to what. "I'm still confused as to why you are in the shower with me. Not that I don't appreciate the hip thing, but…"

His eyes are downcast as he looks for some semblance of a scar. My words, however, were perfect, and no such scar exists. If only there was some way I could erase his internal scars as easily as I could the wounds on his body. My thoughts move quickly and I watch the flutter of Dean's eyelashes move in perfect unison. He doesn't know, but his green eyes contain flecks of gold. An angel's blessing.

I feel… something strangely strong pulling from within me. Jimmy shoves me to the back of his mind and I watch in sudden, mild confusion as I reach out to Deans face, and bring my own close to him. I feel the sharp curve of his neck and the rough patches of shorn facial hand beneath my hands. I bring him close and I place my lips upon his without warning. Jimmy fades almost immediately and I realize I am consciously holding the continued embrace. Dean's lips are tight at first, but the soften against mine and he sighs, his hands fall as he ceases to cover himself and I feel him come forward to meet my vessel's body.

I am rather unsure of how this kissing thing works.

Deans lips part slightly and I pull back. He stares at me, his green eyes misted from the steam of the shower, his mouth still open. In a moment of panic, I sense Sam approaching the door.

"I am going to go now," I find myself saying, just as I hear the latch of the front door release.


	2. Night Terrors

Dean seems to be coping with yesterday far better than I expected. He is more active, and my watch through the night was uneventful.

I find myself longing to approach him but I am hesitant. The length of time I have been within my vessel has forced upon me more human emotions than I thought possible. There is still so much I do not understand. I have stayed in the darkness as not to interfere with Sam and Dean's interactions, as I watch for signs in Dean of weakness.

For this is my greatest fear.

I have given him everything to halt the apocalypse and turned my back on my family. Through this, and the severed ties, the anger against the angels, he has become my family.

Sam is at his laptop and discovers something suspicious in a town about fifty miles away from their hotel.

"So get this- a string of near-death experiences in a Catholic hospital in Northridge. Kids, from a few years old to thirteen. They flat lined, and when they came to each of them say that they were being tortured when a brightness pulled them back, and then they woke up. What do you think?"

Dean sighed and stood from his place at the table.

"Sounds weird. Near death experiences aren't usually our thing, But still, little kids don't go to hell. Tortured, huh?"

"There are some reports of patients' parents having intense chills around the nurses there. Could be demons. And two of the kids came back with burn scars."

"But that doesn't explain the bright light. Were the burns handprints? Angels don't often screw with stuff like that, it's small game."

"No handprints," Sam said. He pushed the laptop towards Dean. "They look like… animal stripes."

"Now that is friggin' weird."

Sam smiles. "So you're with me this time."

Dean looks up and meets his eyes. "Yeah." He is quiet for a moment but finds his voice again. " I had a reminder that life's pretty alright."

Dean turns his gaze to the spot near the bathroom door, where I waited for him the day previous. I feel something ripple through my vessel's chest. Dean breaks his stare and packs his things slowly. An old tartan shirt, spare socks, half a case of beer, and two fake credit cards that bear the name "Michael Walker" are zipped inside. Sam checks out with the room's phone and the two head out to the car.

I enter the room just as I hear the Impala engine turn over. Each time the leave a motel, I check the room for oddities. Today I find none, but Dean has left one of his silver rings on the bathroom sink.

I take it and roll it around my vessel's fingers. The metal is highly reflective and cold, and for a moment, I see a flash of green shine back at me. I swipe a towel from the linen closet for the next motel they are at. It never hurts to have a spare.

I slip the silver band onto a finger on my left hand. I shall return it to him later.

* * *

I would much rather speak to Dean about the events of the previous night, but he is on a mission and I cannot fathom interrupting for something of this nature. I feel as if I should talk with Bobby, so I go to him quickly.

He is sitting in a plush brown armchair with a drink that smells strongly of pine.

"Bobby," I hear myself say.

He jumps slightly. Three large drops of the pine liquid slosh from the cup and land in his lap. It stains his denim jeans with dark spots, though the liquid takes more than a moment to soak through.

"Dammit, Cas. What the hell are ya doin' here?" He says as he brushes the liquid away. It is futile, however, since it has already soaked through. He sets the drink down on the end table to his right.

"I need to discuss… a personal matter."

"Don't you usually do that with them boys?" He adjusts his seated position and crosses his arms across his chest in a protective gesture. I can tell I have made him uncomfortable.

I thought for a moment. "Yes. But not this one. Now is not a good time for them."

Bobby lifted one eyebrow and inhaled bitterly. "Angels don't got personal problems, Cas.

"I know. Not usually. But I have long inhabited this vessel and I believe his… emotions are beginning to blend into my consciousness." I realize that I am taking long pauses between words. Speaking of matters such as this is so foreign to me.

Bobby's eyes grow wide with understanding. He leans forward and I notice his voice becomes exponentially more quiet.

"Castiel. Is this about… sex…?"

Perhaps he did not have as much understand as I perceived.

"No. But I am experiencing… feelings. I am not sure how to describe them."

Bobby rolls his head slightly and eyes me carefully. I am unsure how to discuss this without revealing too much.

"Well, Cas, that's, uh… natural. For someone with a vessel of that age. Did he have a family or somethin'? A wife? Girlfriend?"

I am overcome with guilt and cannot tear my eyes from the dusky carpet. "He did. Once. But… I fear I may have damaged that relationship."

"Ah." Bobby falls silent. He picks up the pine liquid and takes a deep drink. He sighs as he sets the glass down once again, where it clinks against the treated wood of the table. "Cas. I gotta be honest with you. I don't think you really understand what you're feelin', but that ain't no reason to ignore 'em. Your feelings are just as normal as the next guys. So… you know. Explore. Or somethin'. You've been on earth with them boys long enough, it's about time you did something for yourself."

"We do have a profound bond."

"That's a great step in the right direction."

"Thank you, Bobby. I am significantly more at ease with my current predicament."

"Uh, well, my pleasure, I guess. Good luck."

I feel a tug in my mind that signifies Dean's prayer. The light is strong outside, but Sam and Dean are hundreds of miles away. I had nearly forgotten the time.

* * *

I arrive in a motel room that is far less comfortable than the one the two had previously chosen. Dean is sprawled out across one of the two double beds, with three pillows splayed across the floor. He has not been sleeping well.

I think about waking him as soon as possible to speak. Bobby's council had set me much at ease, and there were many things I wished to say to Dean. I sit next to him on the bed and monitor his breathing. The softness of each breath pushes its way from his lungs through his gently opened mouth.

The longer I stare, the stronger these feelings become. I am his protector. He is my family. I know in my soul I would do anything to insure his safety.

His eyelids flicker and he makes a whimpering sound in his sleep. He moves gently beneath the single jersey sheet and whispers, "..stiel."

I have never heard Dean speak my name in his sleep before. He whimpers again and I decide it would be best to wake him. I place my hand over the burn mark on his shoulder and whisper his name.

He stirs, slowly at first, barely opening his eyes, but he rouses when my faces comes into his focus.

"…Cas? Am I still…" He is groggy and touches his chest, confused. His bleary eyes open and meet mine. "It's cool, I'm awake. What's up…?"

I am unsure of myself. "Dean. We need to speak about the events that took place yesterday."

"You mean-"

"Yes. The shower." He quickly covers my mouth with his hand as I hear Sam, in the bed opposite the room, stir and mumble in his slumber. I speak into Dean's hand. "Don't worry. Your brother will not wake before the morning."

He pulls his hand away and stares up at me. The green in his eyes is incredibly bright against the darkness of the motel room.

"So. You wanna talk."

"Yes," I reply. "I have been having… emotions. And I feel that we should discuss them."

Dean's voice is flat. "Emotions."

"Yes. They concern you."

Dean pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and bites it momentarily. He opens his mouth to speak, but silences himself, and runs his tongue along the opening of his mouth.

There is a gentle stir within my belly that I have not felt before.

"Alright, Cas. Let's talk."

"We shall."

There is silence.

He pulls on the joints of his fingers and cracks them, one after another. I am growing fond of the sound. "What did happen last night? How did you end up in the shower with me?"

I inhale sharply. "You mentioned my name while in the shower. I did not… try to follow you. I simply was where you needed me to be."

He eyes me in disbelief. "Wait, so you think I needed you to be there?"

"Yes, Dean. Otherwise I would not have appeared."

Dean is silent again. I wonder if he disliked the kiss, or perhaps dislikes the thought of needing someone other than Sam around him.

"So… why did you kiss me?"

"I don't know."

More silence.

"Did you hate it?" I ask him. I am afraid to hear his answer.

"I don't… I thought I would."

"Did you?"

"…No."

I cannot help but smile. Dean will not hold eye contact with me. I lay my hand over his, which is stretched out next to this vessel's thigh.

"Dean. It's alright. I have sought council and I believe it is alright for me to… embrace the emotions I have."

Dean shrinks away from me and takes a wounded look upon him. "But what about me, Cas? You think YOU'RE confused? I can't even face Valentine's Day anymore because… I don't want to play the games anymore." His voice crackles in the end.

"So what do you want?"

"I don't know, man!" He is agitated. Again, today I have made someone I care for extremely uncomfortable. I pull my hand away and turn to stare through the window above Sam's bed.

I hear Dean sigh and sit up straight in his bed. It creaks under the weight of us both.

"I just need time, Cas. I don't know… what I need."

I can sense a tenderness fall inside his mind. I am overcome with a strange push- Jimmy. Again. I feel as if he is trying to punish me for hurting his family or at least trying to regain some semblance of closeness with another human being, but I sense his advances are only going to pain me further. I find myself turning, face to face with Dean, pushing myself closer to him. Our mouths are but inches apart.

"Dean. I am here to care for you in any way you need, even if you do not understand your own feelings."

He is pressed against the headboard and I feel his breath quicken. I am unsure if it is in fear.

"I guess… that's good to know…"

But his voice is lost within my mouth. Jimmy disappears as I press myself to Dean. This time, the kiss is more comfortable. Natural. The softness of his soul envelops me and I am at ease for the first time since I met him. Dean is not resistant, but instead lifts his arms and wraps them around me, pulling this vessel's form closer. His mouth parts against mine and encourages my own to do the same. We sit here, close and entwined, mouth to mouth, soul to soul for what feels like hours. He moves against me, and I lift this vessel's hands to feel the stubble along the line of his jaw.

Finally, we part and he whispers "Cas, I need to sleep… I've got a hunt in the morning…"

I am saddened to know that these moments are coming to a close.

I take this vessel's palm and brush it across Dean's creased forehead, erasing the sleeplessness from his mind and putting him to bed.

I rise and position the pillows beneath his head.

As I tuck him in, I hear the birds outside begin to sing, before the dawn, fighting for mates outside the window.

I realize I have not returned Dean's ring.


	3. Canton, Michigan

I knew as soon as Sam voiced the first word that Dean would be adamant I accompany him this morning. Sam was waiting at a police station, interviewing the sheriff for information on a string of mangled bodies: Seven, total. Vicious, animal-like attacks, but human teeth were found buried deep within the wounds. Regrettably, Sam had found, the teeth, each second and third molars, and, on one occasion, an incisor, did not match any DNA the office had on file.

This type of ordeal was not unusual for them, but the body count rose with each passing sunset, and Sam, in particular, was eager to hunt. Anxiety was present in his voice, and Dean, ever vigilant, ever protective, vowed to meet him there.

When Dean hung up the phone, his gaze found me, and he smiled. "So, Cas. We gotta go check it out. Sam's waiting. You ready?"

Time was of the utmost importance. With a creature this ravenous, it was only a matter of time before more than a dozen people were slain. "Of course. We will be there at once." I stepped forward, extending my hand to guide us there instantaneously. He stepped back as I approached. Confused, I stopped.

"I was thinking we could do this in the conventional way."

I paused. What did he mean, conventional? Would we walk? Immediate arrival would be much more efficient if the two were to catch the murderous thing that plagued the north side of Canton, Ohio.

"Dean, the conventions of hunting dictate that time is of the essence."

Dean slid his cellular phone into the left pocket of his jeans. It left a bulge, coupled with his wallet, that drew attention to the lower half of his body.

"Eyes up here, buddy."

"What?"

"I figured we could drive."

Canton was, in the time of man, a little over two hours away by automotive vehicle. I urged him to allow me to transport us.

Dean gradually inhaled and allowed his shoulders to rise with the expansion of his lungs. They slid down as he exhaled in a cloud of soft sighs. "I want to teach you to drive."

For a moment, I was silent.

"Dean. I am an angel of the Lord. I do not necessitate skills to operate any vehicle."

He watched me, his arms crossed against his chest in a manner that struck me as defiant. He tapped his fingers gently against the bicep of his opposing arm. One of his eyebrows was pointedly higher than the other. I found the corners of this vessel's mouth turn upward the slightest bit.

"What happens if Sam and I are down for the count, huh? What if you gotta load us up and drive us home?"

"Simple. I would transport us immediately wherever best to be."

He cracked his neck. The sound made the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"You say that as if you've never been without your mojo. As I recall," he said, his voice dripping honey. It was unlike the gruffness he usually voiced, deep within his chest. "Without your powers, you're pretty much a baby in a trench coat."

I was overcome with the desire to silence him. His words struck true: Without my powers, I am indeed useless to them. This simple fact, one of my greatest fears and one of the most intense feelings of inadequacy a being like myself can experience, haunts me every day.

Perhaps, if Dean willed it, I could learn to drive the Impala.

"Fine." The word escape this vessel's lips before I thought it. Dean's smile widened as he quickly took my hand in his own. The warmness of his fingers startled me. It was electric and reminiscent of the down comforter on the hotel bed that Dean and I had experienced just a few nights prior. The kiss we shared was punctuated by sensory memories, of skin and bedding and a stray pillowcase. The dizziness the contact brought faded as I found myself in front of the driver's side door to Dean's "baby."

Dean, from the opposite side of the car, threw the silver keys at my head. My reflexes enabled me to catch them without breaking eye contact.

"Whoa, feeling a little tense there, Cas?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Let's get to it!" He opened the door to the car and slid into the passenger seat. I stared at the keys in my hand for a moment.

"…You coming?"

I peered into the car.

"Dean. I am unsure what to do next."

"…You gotta open the door."

I became suddenly aware of the tightness is my stomach: Dean's glee only served to heighten my discomfort. I took the handle and pulled, relieved that the door gave easily, and I was able to swing it open and ease myself into the driver's seat. I knew the rigidness my body had taken on would be a problem.

I heard his sigh: Heavy and sudden, intensely aware of my shortcomings. An angel masquerading as a human is maladroit: Far clumsier than one might think. I tried each key in the ignition, one after another, until I found the right one.

My anxiety gave way to a sudden calm. I felt the familiar sensation of Jimmy bubbling to the surface: His soul rose, warm and soothing, took its place within this mind, and for a while, I was glad to let myself recede to the back of this vessel. The sensation of falling from consciousness into the void is similar to falling into a nest of sorts. If my true form were present, it would be akin to cocooning myself within the span of wings. Even breath, rocking back and forth. Lightless. Static surroundings.

Jimmy smiled at Dean, and I was relieved. Dean's eyes lit up as clapped for me, for an accomplishment that was hardly mine, and Jimmy threw the stick shift into reverse. He backed the lush Impala out of the parking lot, and turned smoothly into the street.

"Geeze, Cas! Have you done this before?" Dean was supporting himself by leaning against the dashboard. His body was turned to look at this vessel, a look of bewildered pleasure mortared to his face. Jimmy grinned. "Sometimes I think I've done a lot more than I remember."

My desire to accompany Dean on this travel was intense, and from this thought I felt the enveloped wings fall from my mindless form. The sensation was unlike anything I have ever experienced: Jimmy's mouth and soul forming the words, but my grace filling the space between his skin and his blood, his teeth and his tongue. We worked together, two beings sharing the same space, seamlessly and unknown to Dean Winchester. His smile broke through the bond Jimmy and I shared, and for a split second, I again took control and accidentally jerked the steering wheel to the side. Dean yelped, and the anxiety returned.

"Cas!" Jimmy, again, filled the void where my own shortcomings ended.

"Sorry! Sorry. I'm good. We're good," I said through Jimmy's breath.

"You're what?"

As we merged onto the highway, I felt Jimmy slide into the back of my consciousness once again. The cruising speed was pleasant with the windows down, and Dean had put on an AC/DC tape that drowned out the speed of Jimmy's heart. It was not difficult to maintain speed: Dean reminded me several times to keep weight upon the foot that manned the gas pedal. With him, I managed.

It occurred to me, an hour out, that Dean's gaze was affixed on the collar bones of this vessel's body. The car was warm, and Jimmy had loosened the tie and unbuttoned the starched, white undershirt I wore each time I manifested myself. There was a long break between songs on the tape, and within the few seconds time, I heard Dean growl to himself. He arched his back and moved his hands to rest between his knees. He looked uncomfortable.

I said nothing, and managed to keep my eyes on the road.

"Alright, it's two exits away. About 18 miles. So up here, on M-14-"

"Why is the road a letter and a number?"

"Uh," Dean's voice faltered. "I don't know, man. It's just what they call the road."

"Is there a colloquial name?"

"Maybe. I dunno, Cas, I'm not from here. No, Cas!" He frantically pointed to my right. "…That was the exit."

My shoulders dropped as I continued to drive the Impala forward. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm not very good at this."

Dean sighed and laid a hand upon my thigh. "It's fine." He swatted at my leg twice, in quick succession. "Up here, though. Take this exit. We should be able to get back on the highway from there."

I drove, attempting to pay far more attention to Dean's detailed instructions. I failed at trying to change the music tape, and accidentally pulled the volume knob from the dashboard. It was clear my mind was occupied, but when it should have been focused on driving, I found my thoughts on the idea of Dean's mouth pressed against the neck of this vessel's body.

"Hey, uh," Dean's voice cracked midsentence. He cleared his throat and pointed at a mark on his roadmap. "Take a left up here. That's the exit we need to Canton."

With my thoughts elsewhere, Jimmy guided my hands and the wheel to the exit. As we drifted from the highway, I was overcome with the realization that I would need to explain to Dean, perhaps on some other occasion, that I was still unfamiliar with the mechanics of driving. Jimmy cannot guide me every time I am in need.

We pulled into the lot of the Canton Police Station. I heard something from deep within the car wail as I pulled the shift to "P", which, Dean told me, meant "park." I had trouble associating "P" with forcing the car into a stationary position. There is very little connection between that signifier and the meaning it entails.

My ragged breath exposed me as I practically leapt from the car. From the fear, from anxiety, and from the warmness of thoughts of Dean and I, I was breathless and unprepared for the feeling of solid ground. The drive was over. The adventure commenced. My fear was beginning to die as Dean appeared behind me.

"That was the most unpleasant thing I have ever experienced," I said, referring to the pang of embarrassment from damaging the car.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No. Just." I paused. "Unsettled."

"That's alright," he said gruffly. I heard the familiar noise of the joints in his fingers crack. One, two, and then the rest at once. He placed his hands behind my neck and began to press his fingers between the vertebrae. The small, circular movements made the anxiousness disappear. "I can always buy your affection with neck rubs."

"This is true," I whispered, "I am easily bought."


End file.
